


From Pawn to A King

by TimesNewRomanReigns



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (with thunderous applause), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Crack Treated Seriously, Human R2-D2 (Star Wars), In this house we love and respect Padmé Amidala, M/M, Past Anidala, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, and just language butchery in general bc english isn't my first language, basically an amalgam of my favorite gangster shows and movies, cringe use of old timey slang, don't look at me like that this is a mob au of course i need to use italian, half-assed attempt at humor, hey my dudes welcome to the universe where italy doesn't exist but it's language sure as hell does, idk how to tag, mando'a language butchery, no beta we die like liberty, the author said clone rights!, the mob au no one asked for but you're getting anyway, think the wire and the godfather but GAY, tw: alcoholism, tw: forced vegetarianism lmao like that's a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:28:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimesNewRomanReigns/pseuds/TimesNewRomanReigns
Summary: Dead mobsters are piling up in the city. The streets whisper that the infamous Anakin Skywalker is the one giving out the orders. Obi-Wan Kenobi of the Coruscant PD seems to be the only one listening.A/B/O
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission was easy enough, until it wasn't. The captain and his soldiers rise to the occassion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Are you sure you clicked on the right fic? If not it's not too late to hit the back button. Welcome to my 2nd ever story on the Archive. The first one was so bad I had to Order 66 it out of existence. It was a mob au just like this is. Ain't gonna go into details on that one because that was a low point in my flopping writing career lol.
> 
> This story has been in my head for quite some time now and it's been bothering me for just as long. I feel like I finally had to get it out there. I apologize in advance for any brain cells y'all are sure to lose in the process of reading this lmao.

A dreary evening in the outskirts of Coruscant finds the unfortunate small fry ruffian Greedo at the mercy of three–let’s just call them– _chaperones._ He’s not going to a soiree or some other posh function. His companions for the night were simply charged with sending him to the Pearly Gates, as was the case for all the other devils that came before him.

There had been _three_ devils before him if you were wondering.

_Fourth_. Greedo has the honor of being the fourth Alpha. The fourth of how ever many dead Alphas were needed to get the point across in this karking city.

This wasn’t at all how Greedo imagined his day to end. He had expected a payout for bringing in the goods from Pantora, newly-presented Omegas were _always_ profitable and the market demand _never_ declined.

He and his men went through a lot of trouble acquiring the Omegas, the weeks stretching on with the perpetual Pantoran winter chilling them to their bones. After all they were desert natives who simply were not built for the cold. Unfavorable circumstances notwithstanding, they had still succeeded with their acquisition. Although they were gunning for double digits, six young females and a lone male didn’t make for a disappointing haul at all.

_His two partners weren’t half bad for some Betas_ , Greedo thought.

It was the promise of profit that led to them soldiering on and making the long pilgrimage to the Coruscant docks immediately at first daybreak, despite the whispers in the underground of sex trafficking in the bustling city becoming bad business of late.

Stories made their way even to Tatooine of an outfit killing pimps and doing away with the _merchandise_. To what end, nobody knew. Perhaps a new player wanted to make their presence known. Perhaps they were trying to take over the sex market altogether. Greedo and crew decided not to let the stories rattle them, they were protected after all.

(They were wrong. Nobody could have protected them from what was about to happen.)

The docks were clear and no one would be there to see just what was inside their shipping container. Once the haul was loaded into an automobile, they'd be home free. It was only a matter of bribing the lone customs official and that was routine work, expected even. Everything was peachy up to that point and Greedo left the exchange of credits to his business partners.

That would become his undoing.

There was no time to react. He had been having a smoke and admiring the harbor when he was incapacitated, but not before an accented voice caught him unawares.

_“Anakin Skywalker says hello!”_

\---

Greedo awoke with a throbbing headache, heavy confusion showing plain on his face. Did the deal fall through? Where were his men? What time was it? Why couldn’t he move? The Alpha slowly collected his thoughts.

The harbor. The shipment. His cigar.

_Anakin Skywalker._

Everybody knows the name. Lesser beings would hear but a whisper of it and run the other way. The ambitious ones would _try_ and build their own fame by taking him out, try and _fail._ Those with enough brains and a working sense of self-awareness knew to just leave him well alone.

It's true, anybody who's worth his weight knows his name but only a few know the man's story before he shot up to infamy. Few know of the life that toiled endlessly in an unforgiving desert. Few know about the boy with a dead father. Of the poor mother left behind to pay the man's unbounding debt to a Hutt crime lord. A debt that tied hers _and_ her boy's life to servitude.

The child worked as a helper (more like _slave_ ) at a mob-backed scrapyard, salvaging and repairing automotive parts that could be resold at an absurd price. The front man of the establishment, a spiny unpleasant Beta called Watto, made sure to take advantage of the young Skywalker's prodigious ability with mechanics. He made plenty a pretty penny working the little boy's fingers to the bone day in and day out without as much as a _'Good job, kid'_ to show for it.

It seemed like the boy was dealt a shit hand of cards. Until the day he presented as an Alpha and shot up in stature and strength. He had started taking jobs directly from Watto's boss. He made it so that he was able to pay back his father's debt _and_ 'free' his mother at the same time. One might say that life for him changed pretty quickly. He started getting treated with respect. The kids who used to mock his oil-stained clothes would nod to him everytime he passed by. The ones who used to beat on him would pretend he didn't exist. _(Which was infinitely better than getting ganged up on.)_

Perhaps some sheltered people with a penchant for a good old-fashioned underdog story would appreciate how Skywalker's life turned out, but for a working-class youth like Greedo who bet all his credits against him at a motorcycle race and _lost,_ all he felt was anger and bitterness. Anakin Skywalker was an arrogant twit and a _cheat._ Greedo would finally be able to take his revenge as a man.

Greedo looked around and squirmed as much as his body would allow to try and find out just who in the hell took him here. He saw his captors shortly. Three men having a card game at a long table that had seen better days. _The punk_ (punks?) _must have really done a number on me_ , Greedo thought to himself because _Maker_ , he was seeing _triple._

There were three men and they all looked the same. Were they all the same person? _No._ Brothers perhaps? Yes, he could see that now. They wore the same face but that was basically where the similarities ended.

_These sleemos are in for a world of hurt_ , thought Greedo. He had assurances from the Hutts that he was to be protected in Coruscant. If anything were to happen to him the Hutts would surely retaliate. Their reputation demanded it.

Greedo called out to the trio. They reluctantly abandoned their game and made a show of trudging up to him all tortoise-like, as if they would rather be anywhere else, most likely just to get a rise out of him. As they stopped in front of him he let his senses take over, his hackles rising.

They smelled sterile, like a squeaky clean hospital. All three of them.

_Betas._

No. _Nothing_ was gonna happen to him. There would be no need for a retaliation. He was an Alpha and he was going to overpower and kill them all.

The gears were turning in Greedo’s head. Or perhaps it was just the concussion emboldening him. Because he got to _thinking,_ maybe he could get them to tell him where Skywalker was hiding before he killed them.

If he could get a location he could use the information to get on Sidious’ good graces. See, word was that the Boss of the Coruscant underworld had a falling out with his protégé and Skywalker had gone missing. He had apparently become too big for his britches and decided to form his own family. With soldiers and underlings that answered only to _him._ Sidious had been on a manhunt ever since.

Skywalker has proven to be elusive, it was as though he’d made to fall off the face of the earth. None of the other gang bosses knew of where he was.

_Not for long. I give him Skywalker, I become a made man. I won’t have to answer to the Hutts anymore. I’ll be untouchable, I’ll hit the big time._ Greedo convinced himself.

The three looked at him expectantly, almost bored even. As if it was _he_ who brought them here and owed _them_ an explanation. An Alpha such as he was to be treated with reverence. The disrespect was getting on Greedo’s nerves.

“So you’re Skywalker’s _dogs_ then?” He began.

\---

It was amazing what a bit of spice and a little ‘friendly’ cajoling could do to the right person. Or the _wrong_ person, from a certain point of view. Fives was able to get the skinny on the next drop yet again, no thanks to a certain Hutt associate (‘Rat’, more like. ‘Associate’ was being generous. Fives and his brothers would _never_ turn on the Family.) The Hutts seriously need to tighten up before they get run out of town.

_(That_ is _the Don’s plan.)_

This would make it their fourth interception of Hutt deliveries. Jabba only dealt exclusively in prostitution and that had been enough to bolster his criminal empire in Tatooine. If he were privy of just how many botched shipments have occurred lately in Coruscant on account of him, he sure did a damn good job of pretending not to notice. If he thinks his name alone was still enough to run business in this town, he was dead wrong.

The shipment did arrive when they were told it would, and just at the right time too, the brothers were starting to get antsy. It would be the first time they tried this more direct approach though. Usually they just tailed whatever vehicle the _children–_ because that’s what they _are_ , presentation be damned–were loaded into and intercepted them before they were handed over to the pleasure joints, take the head of the operation ( _always_ an Alpha), take _his_ head off (not literally, which was a shame), make arrangements for the safe travels of the kidnapped Omegas back to their homes (with the stern advice to acquire a _gat_ to protect themselves, for Maker’s sake), and went on about their merry ways. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It was simple enough, until the more they did it that way, the more the young Omegas became scratched up and downright spooked after the chase. This did _not_ please the Don at all. They were trying to free people, not put them into shock therapy. And it didn’t help that _one_ of the brothers was all too happy waving his heater around just because he could. No wonder the kids would come out catatonic. A change in methods was sorely needed.

Which found Hardcase donning the uniform of a customs official. It was a tight fit if he was being honest.

His brothers were having a ball wolf whistling and hollering at him, the two jerks.

“Look at this _dreamboat_!”

“Those trousers doin’ wonders for your rump, ‘Case!”

Hardcase was going to kill _them_ **along** _with the pimp **.**_

“Let’s just get this show on the road.” He huffed.

\---

This cat Greedo was bold. Or perhaps he was just plain _stupid._ Because despite being hilariously outnumbered and outgunned– _let alone with his hands tied behind his back–_ the cocksucker still had it in him to talk smack, much to the annoyance of Rex, the _caporegime_ of the Skywalker crime family.

“I knew him you know, your _boss._ ” Greedo says the title as if to spit. “He came a long way from Tatooine. That rat used to shine car par–” A sharp blow knocks the lowlife to the dingy warehouse floor, Rex pistol-whipping Greedo across the face in irritation.

“And Anakin knows you as well, Greee-doee.” The captain purposely dragging the vowels just to spite him. “If you were worth half a thought, he’d kill you himself but seeing as you aren’t, you’re going to have to get friendly with us instead.”

Groggy, bleeding, and squinting, the ruffian still doesn’t let up. “Skywalker is in over his head. He thinks he can get away with these things. He thinks he’s some big shot, Sidious’ _‘Chosen One’”_. Greedo actually spits this time. “Well not anymore! I hope those Omega _whores_ are worth dying for! Sidious will have his–” He is backhanded by Hardcase, whose trigger-happy tendencies were needed for this sensitive caper, should anything go south.

Not that his brothers weren’t more than capable of handling contingencies on their own. But if one were to say that bringing Hardcase along was a _little_ overkill, they wouldn’t be wrong. “Shut up, pimp!” Hardcase bellows.

The third man called Fives, with a scar just below his hairline in the shape of a _V,_ takes Greedo’s suit pocket kerchief, makes it into a ball, and promptly stuff it into his mouth. “There you go, ugly.”

“I thought he’d never shut up.” Says Rex. This is met with amused snickers from his two soldiers. “Now I don’t know about you two but I don’t want to take all night. Let’s just finish the job.” He continues.

The three men all but drag the helpless Rodian across the hardwood flooring, some ancient creaking thing from a bygone era. The little fucker certainly not a happy camper with the way he kept flailing his limbs about. After some useless struggling on Greedo's part they deposit him to a far wall with no amount of gentleness, propping him up in a sitting position.

Fives sets to work ripping Greedo's shirt open, buttons flying everywhere and tearing up the wife beater too, doesn’t even bother with the man’s coat. He then proceeds to take out a knife from his own coat pocket.

“Hey now, I’ll take good care of you.” Fives addresses the soon-to-be-dead man with a hand over his heart. “Make sure it heals nice and pretty. See this?” He taps on his scar. “I done this myself. Not too shabby, no?” He pats Greedo’s cheek with mock affection.

The Rodian flinches at the touch and begins to thrash about, his words of indignation muffled by the ball of cloth in his mouth.

“Why do I have to come to these jobs?” Hardcase begins as he wipes a bloody forearm. “You boys never let me shoot any of these lousy _shleamos_ , even though they all got it comin’!” It’s barely a new grievance for Hardcase. It’s not that he wants to disobey the big man’s orders, it’s just that all the organization’s plans have gone without a hitch so far, and his being on _‘Omega Duty’_ really was unnecessary.

He’d honestly rather go raiding the spice caches with the other boys instead, at least then he would actually get to _shoot things_ with his piece.

“It’s _sleemo,_ Hardcase.” Fives supplies as Rex fails to hold in a snicker. “And you’re here ‘cause Boss feels we need you here.” He points the business end of his knife at his brother. “You know how much blocking these shipments means to him.” Fives admonishes sternly.

This seems to sober up Hardcase, who gives a clipped nod. He thinks of how the family has been divided up, groups of soldiers with their own roles. Some tasked to highjack weapons shipments, others sent to disrupt lucrative drug deals, and some family members doing the little mundane things that keep the organization afloat. Of course there was their own crew, put together to make sure gangs no longer trafficked Omegas, and put fear in the hearts of those who wanted to continue to do so. All these jobs were unsavory but they needed to be done, they all swore to Anakin Skywalker that they would see his vision through to the end. They owed their boss that much.

“At least make it entertaining then, will ya? I think the jerk’s trying to tell us something.” Hardcase makes as if to take something out his own mouth. He positions himself to Greedo’s left with Rex taking the other flank, each firmly gripping an arm.

“If he starts wisecracking about Anakin again I’ll put a bullet in him myself.” Fives concedes, removing the makeshift gag in disgust. He takes a moment to admire the glinting blade in his hand.

“How dare you _Betas_ do this to me?! I AM AN **ALPHA** AND DESER-” The heated words turn into screams when Fives finally plunges the knife into the Alpha’s belly.

Greedo is thrashing now.

Fives’ strokes are masterful and his execution is flawless as he cuts through human flesh with horrifying ease. Each opening of skin could be likened to a letter of the alphabet on a message written, quite literally, in blood.

The screaming becomes wailing, tears falling freely from Greedo’s eyes. The thrashing stops altogether. There is no hope of escaping now, no more words. Just pain. Pain and warm blood spilling and spilling and spilling.

It’s all muscle memory to the underling. The weight of the handle, the correct pressure to apply to the flesh so as not to cut deeply enough to kill. No, death comes later. The message must come first. The message is paramount.

At some point Greedo becomes quiet as a mouse. Gone are his words of bravado and self-importance. It was as if he had accepted his fate. Saying nothing and merely looking down as his body was used as a bloody canvas.

That simply would not do. The bastard deserved to be in pain. He was going to sell _younglings_ to the highest bidder. He didn’t care at all what was to become of their fate after. To be drugged into false heats and used as pleasure toys. Not human with free will, merely a _commodity_ to be used _._ Rex clicked his tongue.

“I think it’s time to turn it up a notch.” Rex says ominously. “Fives, _mark_ him.”

“Yes sir.” Comes the reply without hesitation.

Greedo’s screaming begins anew.

Hardcase visibly _beams._

The captain lets out a little smile of his own.

\---

Rex knows he lucked out when he met the young man that would later become his boss and close friend. His time in the army had honed his sense of smell despite his _Beta_ designation, the unmistakable scent of _Alpha_ wafting in the air whenever his future _Don_ walked in. Anakin Skywalker had been a regular customer at the bakery he worked in after the war. Sent there on pastry runs almost every week by his boss when he wasn’t driving him around. Rex had a sneaking suspicion that the kid had mob ties, what with the grease atop his head, hair slick with no strand out-of-place, the three-piece suits with matching tie, big-face watch, and shiny dress shoes he always wore. Typical fancy gangster garb. He would always leave tips, generously, and Rex would accept them almost reluctantly. _Almost._ Money was hard to come by for him and his brothers so he would take it where he could.

Part of him thought it was only because the young man was the generous-tipping _type_ that explained his affinity for tipping generously. Another part of him thought it was because the Alpha was simply sorry for a poor schmuck like him and took pity _._ But after a particular transaction found him holding in his palm a tip bordering on _obscene_ ; Rex, not wanting to appear as _even more_ of a pathetic charity case, decided to follow the young man to his _Alfa Romeo_ to give the ridiculous sum of money back.

He hurriedly took off his apron and headed out the back to the parking lot to call out for the Alpha when he noticed a man crouched near an automobile parked spaces away from Skywalker’s own, pistol in hand and seemingly out-of-view. Far be it from Rex to let his unknowing benefactor get gunned down and especially behind his workplace, he made a decision. With years of military experience aiding him, he stealthily crept up behind the man and disarmed him. Caught unawares the thug pulled out a pocketknife and with a cry swung at the ex-soldier but Rex put a stop to that shit right then and there, blocking the sloppy slash and smashing the butt-end of the pistol to the man’s nose. He went to sleep immediately.

The young Alpha came up then, surprise visible on his boyish features. He whistled and said, “You really did a number on my friend here, didn’t you, pal?” Rex shrugged and handed the pistol to the young man after wiping it free of prints. “You need to make better _friends_ , boss.” The Alpha waved his hands and replied almost abashedly, “No, none of that ‘boss’ nonsense. Call me Anakin.”

“You need better friends then, Anakin.” He huffed and started fishing in his pockets. Ironically deciding that it would be impolite to _not_ give out his own name to the young man, he offered reluctantly, “The name is Rex.” He reached out to hand him back his money but upon realizing what it was Anakin shooed his hand away. “You know it’s rude to give _back_ what is given to you, Rex.” Anakin said with a smirk.

“Okay then I’ll keep it. But I won’t be taking any more from now on, boss.” Rex told him firmly. Anakin rolled his eyes at the moniker, smirking as he shook his head, huffed out a breath and gave him a two-finger salute. “Whatever you say, boss man.” The older man moved to get back to the bakery but promptly stopped as Anakin called out, “Uh, help me out with my friend here, old boy? I have to take him to the hospital.”

_The hospital. Right. He’s lucky if he even ends up at a morgue,_ Rex thought to himself. His suspicions were confirmed. The kid _was_ a gangster after all. Regular joes don’t have ‘friends’ fixing to plug ‘em with lead. “Alright.” With that, Rex found himself carrying the soon-to-be-dead wise guy with his arms hooked under the man’s pits, Anakin holding onto the unconscious shmuck by the legs. They made short work of loading him into the back of Anakin’s sedan. After an exchange of nods, Anakin fired up his automobile and the two went their separate ways. One walked back to his shit-paying honest job and the other drove off presumably to play undertaker somewhere.

Rex remembers feeling faintly like he was being followed home after work that day. He merely chalked it up to his only affliction acting up again. The contemporary mind doctors had no name for the uneasy feeling. But Mandalorians do, and have for millennia. A rough translation in Basic would be "The Soldier's Heart" _–_ not even the fierce warriors of old were able to fight away their demons, do away with their sorrows, and strengthen their minds from unwarranted fear, battle-worn as they were _–_ it was as intimate a friend of his as his brothers were. But it wasn’t an episode of 'The Soldier's Heart' that Rex had the next morning when Fives came barreling through his bedroom door yapping about a box on the mat outside their ratty apartment.

He went into the kitchen to find Echo unwrapping choice cuts of high-quality meat from inside the mysterious box. “It came with a note.” Rex snatched the scrap of paper from his brother and ran a hand over his face.

**_‘Don’t even try giving these back, old boy. -A’_ **

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Rex sighed.

That was a couple of years ago now. Anakin eventually graduated from glorified chauffeur to a _made man_. Untouchable. It was made crystal clear to all of the underworld that no more attempts were to be made on his life. Put all the petty jealousy to the side, or _die._

He made his way up the organization. This pleased his boss, Sidious, greatly. The old man was coming to an age and as such had been grooming Anakin to become his successor; showing him the ropes and teaching him all the intricacies involved in gaining and maintaining power.

It was well-known that Anakin was chosen as the heir to the throne and would soon hold the keys to Sidious’ criminal empire. A fact that didn’t sit right with most of the older _capos_ in the organization. He was the perfect candidate after all. He was a cunning warrior, young and strong, and with a will that could not be denied. It was said that his _Alpha command_ could compel _other_ _Alphas_ to obey him.

Sidious had been damn near giddy when he plucked Anakin Skywalker from the desert and snatched him out of the Hutt Families’ hands. He had been the father that Anakin prayed to the gods for every night as a child. He had given him all the money, power, and influence that he never even dared to dream of scrubbing grimy car parts at Watto’s shop.

Of course, not everything is a bed of roses and all good things have to end eventually. Everything went to shit when Anakin paid a visit to the boss one day and respectfully said he wanted _out_. It was so random, so seemingly out-of-the-blue that the old man had actually _cackled_ like a maniac at the request. He implored the young man to sit down and have a drink, to think things through, to be _reasonable._ But Anakin wouldn’t be Anakin if he doubled back on his decisions. He had made up his mind long before he even worked up the nerve to set up a sit down with his mentor. Sidious wasn’t having it. He had wasted too much time, had placed too many expectations, and had imparted too much _knowledge_ to his apprentice that–suppose he _did_ let Anakin leave–he could ruin Sidious on a whim.

So, the answer had been _no._ Anakin had kept his composure even though he was beside himself at the denial. Any sign of weakness would have been a boon for Sidious to use to his advantage. Anakin may have respected the man as a father figure but he was under no illusions. A man like Sidious who had power and the means to _keep_ it, especially in the world they lived in, this _thing of theirs_ that nobody understood–one would be wise not to defy him. He had banked on their easy mentorship–his eagerness to learn every lesson Sidious had taught, his shrewdness and determination to pull off every unsavory job and caper, even the little moments throughout the years when Anakin would come to him for advice–to sway the elder Alpha into deciding in his favor. He may have even let out a touch of _command_ into his voice to convince the old coot. If he had been affected by the command, Sidious certainly made a point of not letting it show.

Disappointed but not entirely defeated, he put a call out to the Fetts that night. They had become somewhat of a de facto organization of their own, only that the boys refused to answer to any other Alpha but Anakin. Not to the Don of Serenno, not to that mutilated half-man Grievous, not even the Boss of Bosses Sidious himself. They had built up quite a reputation in the underworld as cutthroat and efficient and many an enterprising mobster had more than once tried to employ their coveted services and promised the brothers lucrative business, but they refused every single offer every time. Their unwavering loyalty to their _chosen_ Don only serving to strengthen Anakin’s resolve. The Fetts would go to war with him if need be.

Sidious had to be taken out if Anakin were to gain the freedom he so craved. He had promised his wife a new life together, a life that no longer found them hiding in the dark, without even a mating mark to show for their troubles. He owed it to his pup at least. He would give them a peaceful life, free of servitude and senseless violence. They weren’t even born yet but Anakin knew deep in his soul that he would do anything for them.

\---

“You really outdid yourself this time, Fives. This is your best work yet.” Rex says approvingly.

“Mm.” He replies as he admires his bloodied blade, almost in a trance. The capo rolls his eyes and smirks.

“I’m takin’ a leak!” Hardcase hollers out to his brothers as he walks to another corner of the rundown building.

"Are you gonna clean your _kal_ or should I leave _–"_ Rex suddenly comes to and draws his pistols. Fives snaps out of his haze and pulls out his own firearm.

"They got the drop on us, Rex!" Fives whispers as he aims his Remington at the new arrivals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you made it up to here? Holy fuck are you okay?
> 
> Sorry had to leave it on a cliffhanger. I feel like I was dragging it, and it's only the friggin **Prologue**. Ugh.
> 
> Anyway, my inbox is w i d e o p e n for hate mail so fire at will, heauxs!
> 
> If you hate it (which I would totes understand tbh), let me know how much down below.
> 
> If you love it, you had better get your head checked sweetheart bc loooool
> 
> P.S. Sorry for the Tarantino-esque random-ass order that I wrote this in. That's just how my thought process works tbh 😂


	2. doble kara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Don comes out of hiding for once and unknowingly meets somebody worth his attention.
> 
> _(It's not what you think.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags y'all.

Anakin paced around in his den. His handsomely-tailored coat had been abandoned on an armchair in a corner and the sleeves of his equally handsome dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He was nursing a snifter in one hand. He had lost count of how many drinks he’s had. Probably too much.

Although with the way the night was progressing, perhaps _not enough._

He stared blearily into the neat brown liquid like it could show him all the answers to his problems if he looked hard enough. It was only the finest Corellian whiskey, a token he gifted to himself to celebrate the procurement of his first booze place's liquor license. To Anakin that milestone felt like it had happened lifetimes ago already when it's really only been a couple of years. Time was cruel like that. Time was a merciless god, always moving on and on with no regard to whether its devotees caught up to it or not.

But let’s get back to the whiskey.

There was a time when he would drink just to enjoy it. To savor the spirit’s oaky flavor and the subtle notes of vanilla and the way it went down smoothly because he was told it was made with the bathwater of virgins or whatever the _kark_ _all_ was in the pitch that sold it to him. He used to feel like a million credits when he would break out the bottle and just sit on his ass. It was all new to him, being feared and powerful and rich enough to actually _afford_ just sitting on his ass. It was a comforting feeling.

But times have changed. At present, he’s found himself staring down the bottom of a bottle almost nightly. Not anymore to savor it and feel like he was the king of kings, no. Now the liquor would bring him a different kind of comfort, for a while dulling the aching hurt he felt in his heart and silencing the voices in his head. The voices that tell him night and day without fail that everything was all his fault.

_He agrees._

This night though, the liquor wasn’t doing him any good. It felt like liquid fire burning down his throat. Only served to amplify the sorrow in his chest and made the voices positively _scream_ at him. Maybe the whiskey had finally gone bad.

The young mafioso’s anxiety was going through the roof and his thoughts were spiraling out of control.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. Some ‘Alpha’ I am._

_I’ll finish what he started!_

_Our beautiful pups. I don’t know what to do without you, Angel._

_I’ll burn everything he’s built to the ground! I swear on my mother’s grave! I swear on_ yours.

_I’m so sorry._

_I’ll kill him and every other bastard who had a hand in your death!_

_I love you, Padmé._

**_WHERE IN THE KRIFFING HELL IS REX?_ **

****

Anakin knocked back the drink in one swig and slumped into his desk chair, dropping his head in his hands.

He had to admit to himself that he was worried. Usually his _capo_ would be here by now to tell him the job was done. They’d talk over a drink and make plans on how to further move forward with Anakin’s _vendetta._

Going to war with a seasoned Don isn’t easy. Especially when in hiding. Especially when the enemy has his dick so far down everybody’s throat that it was hard to make a move on him. Anakin had to hand it to Sidious, the man had a grip on almost _everything._ Deals don’t happen in Coruscant without his go-ahead. Drugs, guns, prostitution, you name it. Hell _,_ even little bozos playing dice for table scraps on a street corner somewhere in the city probably gave him a piece of the action too. _Everybody_ owes a tribute to Sidious to some degree. It was only expected. Disrespecting him would get you nothing but a one-way trip to a shallow grave.

Which was why for the better part of two years their crew that once operated under and turned in big money for the Don of Coruscant’s criminal organization had been forced to close up shop. Sidious had put out a directive that absolutely _no one_ from his own family or any other families in the city and nearby territories for that matter was to do business with _them_ , the faction branded as traitors that now called themselves the _Skywalker Family._

That was the final nail in the coffin. There would be no reconciliation between mentor and protégé. It so infuriated Sidious that his apprentice, his pet project, his own personal _boogeyman_ would turn on him like that. But Anakin didn’t just run off and call himself _Don._ His soldiers did that.

And there would have been no need for a _Skywalker_ _Family_ if Sidious had just let Vader walk. But no. He didn’t allow him to go, whinging bullshit about how Vader was a _made man_ and how leaving his Family would be _dishonorable_.

Which was quite the irony when, a couple of months after his wife’s childbirth and in the thick of an all-out turf war, Sidious ordered a hit on her. Padmé. His wife. A _civilian_ who had nothing to do with the life _they_ lived. Killing innocents was the _greatest_ of dishonors.

Faced with the horror of his wife’s murder, Anakin made the decision to pull back his Family from the war. He had taken his infant children and his _Vode_ and went into hiding. Far enough away that Sidious wouldn’t find them but close enough to strike when the time was right.

The Family didn’t just idle by in hiding. Plans were made by the Don and his captains, revised, looked at and revised even further to ensure effectiveness. They were approaching it almost like a military operation. And time came that they were finally ready to set the plans in motion.

They had begun to sabotage every major underworld transaction in the city that they had wind of. Remember that Sidious is still Don of the Coruscant Mafia and where _anybody_ made money, _he _made money. How Fives could gather correct intelligence never failed to amaze Anakin. He was way overdue for a ceremony.

After all this shit is over and dealt with, Anakin would personally make arrangements to have Fives become a _made_ _man_. Might even be the captain of his own crew. Kriff it, if the whole Family even makes it out alive somehow, _everybody_ is getting made. Sith’s hell, probably even Ahsoka too.

Anakin straightened up and decided that a change in scenery was in order. He had frequently been getting concerned looks from his soldiers brought by the fact that he rarely left the safe house since they all moved in. He spent his days all cooped up in his den and drinking himself into a stupor if he wasn’t busy plotting revenge or spending time with his pups.

Anakin may have been on a downward spiral mentally but never let it be said that he was a terrible father. He adores his children and loves them fiercely. He sees nothing wrong with spoiling them seeing as how he had next to nothing when he was growing up. If Padmé could see how beautiful and bright they had both become.

_To think he could have lost Luke and Leia too if it weren’t for…_

He needed some fresh air. A drive would be nice. Anakin nodded to himself.

He fixed his sleeves and straightened his tie. He pulled a piece out the left hand side drawer of his desk and tucked it into his pants behind him. Nothing fancy, just a single-action .45, the old reliable. He put on his jacket and was halfway out the door when he realized he had forgotten his horsehide glove.

He gazed at the faintly pink raised skin of his right hand. The burns had healed a long time ago but it remained a gnarly sight to this day. The scars went all the way up to his elbow and stayed a permanent reminder of one of his many, many failures.

He had failed to read the situation he was in, and in his naiveté he fell right into the Don of Serenno’s clutches. He was arranged to literally be _burned_ _alive_ in a mockery of an initiation ritual.

Dooku wasn’t all that happy to find that not only had Sidious taken Vader under his wing, but he was also to become a _made man_ and be basically untouchable. The boy was barely twenty years old and was rising so rapidly up the ranks that it infuriated Dooku who had hustled for _years_ before his name was put in the books.

And so he made as if to throw a party in Vader’s honor to celebrate his upcoming initiation ceremony. A show of good faith and _finally_ harmony between the two clashing mafiosos in Sidious’ Family.

Dooku wasn’t strong enough to finish the job and Vader was able to escape and had still gone on to be _made_.

As luck would have it, an opportunity for revenge would finally present itself to Anakin years later during the war between the Skywalker and Palpatine Families. It saw the man who no longer went by Vader execute the Don of Serenno himself by way of asphyxiation, with a garrote of piano wire taken from the man’s own home.

Anakin Skywalker stared at his burnt hand and laughed and laughed and _laughed._

“Dooku, ‘ya kriffin’ sleemo, you should have locked your fucking windows!” He slurred in between giggles.

He was so karking _drunk_.

\---

“Don Skywalker!” Artoo sat up straight from where he was lounging and put out the smoke in his hand, surprised to see his boss _outside_ of his office.

The boss in question managed to crack a small grin before pointing a thumb at the general direction of the house’s main entryway. He missed. _Badly._

“We’re going out, Little Boy. I’ll just give the pups a little kiss goodnight.” He practically stumbled his way up the winding staircase.

“He’s fixing to wake the twins up.” Ahsoka said, unimpressed.

“Mm. Guess I’d better start up the car.” Artoo put on his grey bowler and smoothed out his lapels.

Ahsoka got up too and removed her silk head wrap revealing intricate braids the color of blue and white, contrasting beautifully with her brown skin. Her scent spiking up in what could only be described as mild alarm. She needn’t a change in wardrobe.

_‘You have to look ready in order to_ be _ready, Ahsoka.’_

Padmé had taught her that. She also taught her how to _make_ a target where Anakin only reluctantly taught her how to fire a gun (and only after she _begged_ him to), which she would be more than happy to do if need be. The night was shaping up to be eventful.

“The _one_ time he decides to go out and it’s the middle of the kriffing night. It’s like he’s _looking_ for trouble. I’m coming along, Artoo!”

Artoo removed his hat with a flourish and placed it brim-side on his chest as if making a pledge.

“After you, ‘ _Omega’.”_ He sing-songed coyly.

Ahsoka snorted and made her way out the door, _‘Little Boy’_ trailing behind her.

\---

Contrary to Ahsoka and Artoo however, Anakin managed to slip inside his pups’ room without incident. He could be quite nimble when he wanted.

He smiled softly as he watched his twins sleep soundly in their cribs. They were coming up on two years already and if you asked Anakin were growing up _way_ too fast for his liking.

Leia, his little princess, had the makings of a formidable public speaker, obviously taking after her mother. Anakin and the boys oftentimes found themselves nodding vigorously and hanging onto every word the little girl babbled. Auntie Soka in particular was her _second_ biggest fan. _(Daddy was the first of course.)_ She just had an air about her that seemed to demand respect. It would be terrifying if it weren’t so endearing.

Luke on the other hand wasn’t as rambunctious, preferring to be an observer rather than the one commanding the attention of the room. He had a wisdom in his eyes that Anakin couldn’t explain. When he isn’t taking in everything around him, you would find him running about the lawn with a toy in hand. Nine times out of ten it was his favorite toy plane. Perhaps his boy wanted to be a pilot one day.

Whatever they decide to be when the time comes, he’ll be right there to support them.

Anakin ran his good hand on the runes carved onto one crib. He had a crib especially made almost immediately after learning that he and his Angel were having a baby. Sourcing as much Japor ivory as was needed saw him parting with a considerable amount of money. Still he spared no expense. And then when later they learned that she was carrying _twins_ and would need another crib _,_ well, you can’t take credits with you into the _Force_ now can ‘ya?

He looked at the runes somberly. The symbols were supposed to invoke good fortune for the bearer. He had gifted his wife a Japor snippet in the early days of their courtship. It was a crude thing compared to the fine Nubian dresses that she wore yet she still kept it on her person at all times swearing up and down that it was truly good luck.

Anakin stopped believing in such superstitions when Padmé was killed. There was only one way to guarantee good luck and that was to bring a bigger stick to the fight than the other guy. Or better yet just bring a gun and _end_ the fight before it even began.

Still he decided to keep the cribs, if only to respect his wife’s memory. She adored the cribs and for a while had enjoyed watching their young rolling around in them. The snippet he had arranged to be buried along with her. He couldn’t bear to even look at it when they found her body.

The Don took one last glance at his slumbering children and hoped that unlike his, their dreams were good dreams.

\---

There would be no protection for Anakin Skywalker tonight despite one of his _capos’_ insistence that a second car ride along with him. Jesse meant well, but the boss implored that nobody else come along. He was in good hands between Ahsoka and Little Boy. Not to mention that he was fucking Anakin Skywalker, one-time strong arm of the Don of Coruscant. He didn’t _need_ any protection.

And besides, all that’s precious and dear to him in his life lay sleeping inside the house. _They_ were the ones who needed protecting. Perhaps it was a little overkill but he had learned his lesson the hard way. There’s no such thing as ‘overprotective’ when it comes to family, and Luke and Leia were all he had left. He’s sure the boys would understand.

Anakin plopped in the back of the sedan. Artoo was driving and Ahsoka riding shotgun. _Sawed off,_ as she prefers hers.

“Where we headed, boss?” Artoo inquired.

Ahsoka turned to Anakin and visibly grimaced.

“Really, Skyguy? You couldn’t spruce up your hair just a _little_ bit?”

It had grown quite long from when he wore it slick with a high taper. He refused to have it cut after Padmé died, her being the last person on earth who touched his head of hair with any meaning. The locks brushed past his shoulders now, his unruly curls looking like sunrays flaring gold.

Anakin ran a hand through his hair. Seems like he _did_ forget to grease it. _E chu ta._ Nothing could be done about it now. He waved his hand.

“CoCo Town.” He all but slurred.

He’d kill for a bloody burger and some ardees right about now.

“Dex’s?” Ahsoka’s face lit up, showing her years. It was one of the rare occurrences that reminded Anakin of just how _young_ she was. How young he _himself_ was. But with the life he’s lived, he just felt _old._ Old and embittered and angry. So, _so angry_.

“Yeah, Snips. We’re hitting up Dex’s.” He tapped the back of the driver’s seat twice and Artoo drove out of the compound.

_What am I worried about?_ Anakin thought to himself.

Rex was _fine._ They were _all_ fine. His _Aliit_ has never failed him yet and they surely won't start now.

\---

Detectives Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett of the 212th Precinct of the Coruscant Police Department found themselves in a rundown part of town. It was hard to believe that this was still Coruscant. It was just so shady and unpleasant.

Shady and unpleasant. Come to think of it, those two words described Coruscant _perfectly._ It’s just that this place was much, _much_ _worse._

“Why did you take us to the old commercial district?” Cody asked his partner, not even hiding his displeasure.

“Seeing as we just followed up on a dead lead and we were close by I figured a trip to CoCo Town would more than make up for our wasted time.” Obi-Wan replied in his pleasant Coruscanti lilt.

Cody narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“You better not drink on the job, Kenobi.” He warned his companion who had a propensity for getting blitzed at any given moment, even when on duty. Grief is a bitch and a half.

Obi-Wan would never admit it though, and he prided himself on not acting a roaring souse even when inebriated out of his mind.

“Dex’s is a wholesome establishment, Cody. And I _never_ drink on official police business.” He responded in mock offense.

Cody raised his eyebrows. “How wholesome can it be? This part of town is _crawling_ with wise guys.” He said in contempt.

Obi-Wan didn’t even try to deny that fact and instead focused on pulling up the front of the Diner. He gestured for Cody to stay so he could give him a word of warning.

“Dex and I go way back and his clientele may or may not be a bunch of low lives but I’d rather not judge.” Obi-Wan paused. “That being said, no real names. The owner may be my friend but make no mistake, nobody else is. And I’m sure they don’t take kindly to coppers in these parts.”

“Good thing we’re not uniformed officers then.” Cody shrugged. “Greasy food, cheap liquor, and fake names. Just like the speakeasies in Mandalore.” He grinned.

“Good man.” Obi-Wan tapped Cody in the shoulder.

“Cody,” He called out while the man was halfway out the car.

“You forgot your bucket!” Obi-Wan chucked the cashmere fedora at his unsuspecting partner. He caught it with a quickness that would make any ballplayer proud. It was impressive really, seeing how it was dark out. Cody, however, wasn’t impressed. These rags were pressed and he’d rather not make a mess of them thank you very much.

“ _Di’kut_!” He bellowed with no real malice.

Obi-Wan just laughed as they made their way into Dex’s joint.

All cheeriness left Obi-Wan’s disposition as he took in the patrons inside the once proud diner. Table upon table occupied by shady characters who wore the brims of their hats low to obscure their faces. Cigarette smoke wafting out every which way and Force be damned, the overpowering _stench_ of Alpha posturing was almost enough to make Obi-Wan go right back the way he came.

It was a good thing he topped up on suppressants. He couldn’t run the risk of getting Alpha attention in the absolute _armpit_ of Coruscant that was CoCo Town.

Why weren’t Alphas compelled to wear scent blockers like Omegas are? They get to parade around their stink like it was a _badge_ _of_ _honor_ while Omegas like Obi-Wan have to mask their scents in order to protect themselves from out-of-control knot heads.

It was outrageous. Unfair really.

The combined scents of the plethora of different Alphas permeated the whole joint. None of them did anything for Obi-Wan.

He only cared about one scent.

_His_ Alpha’s.

_And she was…_

Obi-Wan set about trying to find a table for them while Cody stayed behind him dutifully. As they passed by one that was occupied by the window he heard something quite rude and had to do a double take. Apparently Cody heard it too and directed a glare at the occupants of the table.

Two Alphas. One of them was a girl with interesting hair who couldn’t have been older than a youngling. Definitely not the culprit. The other one sat across from her was a rather unkempt young man who had his neck craned up with the back of his head resting on the booth’s upholstery. His eyes were covered by a forearm as if the dim lights in the diner were blinding him somehow. ( _Just keep your head down, for Maker’s sake.)_ His otherwise expensive-looking suit was rumpled and his long hair wasn’t even styled. He was so obviously _drunk_. How uncivilized. Obi-Wan realized with vicious satisfaction that while he too had a fondness for alcohol, he’d never be as pathetic a drunk as _this_ mope was.

Obi-Wan looked around to see if any of the other patrons had heard what the man said. Everybody seemed oblivious to what just happened so he decided not to escalate the matter. He didn’t want to make a scene and the man was certainly not worth the trouble. Getting into a fight with an Alpha was never a bright idea, and especially here of all places. Besides, the kid was probably some kingpin’s son going by the way he dressed. _Thank you but we’re off duty. No run-ins with the local Mob for us tonight if you please._

Obi-Wan continued his search for a vacant booth. No harm, no foul.

If any of them _had_ heard him though, Obi-Wan thinks not even a mean mug from Cody’s scarred face would be enough to get the two of them out of trouble. They may have to just book it out of there if worse came to worst.

\---

Ahsoka wasn’t going to let Anakin keep her from enjoying her delicious hot steak dinner. Err. Midnight meal? _You_ _know_ _what_ _let’s just call it a super early breakfast_.

Not to sound like a complete ingrate but if she had to eat another homemade vegetable-based dish like she’s been eating for _ages_ hiding with Skyguy and the _Vode,_ she’d be liable to run amok, find Sidious, and strangle the old sleemo to end this turf war herself.

She wasn’t a picky eater by any means but one could only live on plants for so long. It was nice to sink her teeth into a juicy slab of beef. It was like she’d died and went into the _Force_ , whatever the Sith’s hell that means. (Coruscanti religions perplexed her. All the symbolism and mumbo-jumbo about the Jedi and the Sith just wasn’t for her.) And the mashed potatoes were _so_ soft. The gravy? Divine.

It was a stroke of genius for Skyguy to offer to bankroll the joint on the low when it started to lose customers because the regulars were just about ready to move on from the steadily dilapidating district. Dex didn’t mind the change in clientele going from blue collar workers and families to crooks and gangsters, so long as they didn’t cause trouble in the diner.

And they knew better than to start anything down here too, lest they wanted to be stuffed full of lead instead of the burgers and booze that the Ojomian whipped up 24/7.

Ahsoka looked over to Anakin as she had finished her meal.

_What a waste of perfectly good food._

Anakin was so sauced that he barely touched his burger. Which was ironic because he kept on yapping about getting one the entire ride here. She swiped a couple of fries off his plate.

Ahsoka sighed and spared a glance at the chrono on the wall. Maybe it was time to go home. Skyguy had been out like a light for the better part of an hour and frankly it was getting embarrassing. He really needed to learn how to hold his liquor. And she was pretty sure some of the stupid yucks in this place were cooking up a plan to rob them at this very moment. The Don really should have dressed less conspicuously. She wasn’t blind to the hungry looks directed at their booth.

She’d love to see the looks on their faces when they realize just who in the hell they were trying to rob.

The mounted metal chime by the glass door of the diner rang signaling a new arrival.

_Huh. Guess Skyguy wasn’t the only one to get a craving at such an ungodly hour._ Ahsoka thought to herself.

She paid them no attention, opting instead to wake Anakin to the land of the living so that they could hightail it up out of here. It would have been easier if Artoo were here to help her walk him out but Little Boy insisted on staying by the car. Ahsoka could swear that man was part machine himself because she had never seen him eat a bite of food. _Ever._ And that was saying a lot because they all _lived together._

Sighing, Ahsoka reached over the table and shook the hand Anakin rested on it. He still didn’t budge. _Poodoo._

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, irritation building inside her.

But then the most _embarrassing_ thing happened. Anakin had muttered something under his breath as the new arrivals passed by their booth but _nothing_ could have prepared Ahsoka for what she was about to see right after.

“ _Omega_. Smell good.” Anakin, the absolute _idiot,_ mumbled loudly enough to be heard by the target audience.

One of the newcomers, a man with a neatly combed over head of red hair and beard groomed just as neat sized her up. The _Omega_ in question, she presumed. She couldn’t tell by smell. He was probably hopped up on suppressants but judging by his immediate reaction Anakin was right.

Ahsoka grit her teeth sheepishly and blurted out an apology on behalf of her stupid and _still_ _out like a light_ companion but then the man behind the Omega came into view and levelled her with a glare that would make lesser beings run right out the diner. She didn’t because she _couldn’t._ She was stuck in her seat, rooted in place by shock.

The second man was a _Fett._ She had no doubt about it. But he wasn’t part of their _Family._ Ahsoka could _smell_ a **cop** from a mile away, suppressed or not.

Kriffing hell. It was _definitely_ time to get out now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy what's good? I'm back! School's been kicking my ass for the past few weeks so I'm ✨s o r r y✨ for such a late update.
> 
> Anyways, let's talk about how good a first impression our little Ani gave to Obi. /s _(I mean like control ur sleep talking m8 it's not that hard smh my head)_
> 
> **I SWEAR ONE DAY I'LL LEARN NOT TO LEAVE A CHAPTER ON A CLIFFHANGER, JUST NOT TODAY MWAHAHAHAHA**  
>    
> As always, feel free to slide up my inbox with some _h a t e m a i l._  
>  -Times
> 
> p.s. #LETAHSOKAEATMEAT1945 should totally be a thing tbh


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